


Rainbow Hearts Retreat

by PajamaSecrets



Category: Sherlock (TV)
Genre: Crack, Fake/Pretend Relationship, First Time, Fluff, Fluff and Smut, Friends to Lovers, Humor, Kissing, M/M, Sharing a Bed, Therapy, Undercover, Undercover as a Couple
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2012-07-10
Updated: 2014-01-31
Packaged: 2017-11-09 13:13:40
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 8
Words: 11,638
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/455835
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/PajamaSecrets/pseuds/PajamaSecrets
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>
  <i>"It's a same-sex couples retreat. For those experiencing troubles in their relationship. Consists of group and couples therapy as well as encouraging socialization between the couples. It's all in their incredibly dull brochure." </i>
</p><p> </p><p>  <i>"Rainbow Hearts Retreat," John read. "Sounds… quite gay."</i></p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Quite Gay

"New case, John, pack your things," Sherlock announced swiftly, moving about the flat. John eyed him with curiosity.

"We're going somewhere overnight?"

"Yes, for two weeks. Undercover, as a matter of fact. Well, we can use the same names, just not reveal our actual intentions of investigation." Sherlock babbled quickly with a wave of his hand.

"Alright," John said, nodding slowly, "you mind telling me what we're investigating?"

"Bernard Robinson, CEO, possible murder suspect, supposedly killed a colleague who found out about his company's secret funding of drug trafficking in the UK," Sherlock explained. "He's attending a couples retreat next week with his partner, which will give us the perfect chance to observe him undetected. Of course, we're not only investigating for murder; it's clear he's done it, even an idiot could see it. We're mostly looking for proof that his company was involved with the drug business. Could get as a nice little sum from a rival company who wants Bernard's company to be seen in a bad light."

"Couples retreat, alright then. Who are we going with?"

"Ourselves," Sherlock raised an eyebrow, as if he didn't understand what John was getting at.

"We're going to be the couple," John said, realisation dawning.

"Certainly, it's a same-sex couples retreat. For those experiencing troubles in their relationship. Consists of group and couples therapy as well as encouraging socialization between the couples. It's all in their incredibly dull brochure." Sherlock pulled a folded piece of paper out of his inside jacket pocket, handing it to John. 

"Rainbow Hearts Retreat," John read. "Sounds… quite gay." John glanced over the brochure. "So what's our 'relationship conflict'?"

"Hm?"

"It says here, and you mentioned, that it's a retreat for couples with relationship issues. Now I certainly have a lot of bones to pick with you, but I can't exactly talk about the feet you're leaving in the fridge without getting strange looks."

"Oh. Yes." Sherlock paused momentarily. "You're insecure about your sexuality, I'm insecure about showing affection, we quarrel constantly. Good enough?"

"Yeah, good enough," John agreed. _Sounds like us exactly._

***

When they arrived at Rainbow Hearts Retreat, John couldn't help but gape at the beauty of it. Flowers and a fountain adorned the front lawn of a quaint-looking building, white fence and window-panes and everything. The only thing that ruined it a bit was the heinous sign stuck in the grass painted with rainbow neon colors that stated the name of the place.

Sherlock and John opened the front door. They were met by a cheerful young man at a reception desk. 

"Name in which the registration is under, please?" The man asked in a chirpy voice.

"Holmes," Sherlock stated.

"Ah, you must be Sherlock and John," The man exclaimed. "If you'd go into the main room down the hall, it's introductory social hour." 

"Alright, thank you," John dismissed him, walking down the hall with Sherlock.

***

The main hall was painted a boring beige; the hardwood floors had scuff marks from the chairs that were currently sitting in a circle. Three couples were sitting together, as well as a woman sitting by herself.

"Which one's Robinson?" John whispered to Sherlock.

"Receding hairline, pointy nose, dark green jacket," was Sherlock's hushed response.

"Come join us," a woman encouraged. "We were just about to make introductions."

John noticed she wasn't part of a couple. She must have been the therapist. Great.

Sherlock and John sat down. John twiddled with the hem of his jumper, feeling a bit uncomfortable. He wasn't fond of therapy.

"I guess we'll start," a man said. He looked about in his mid-thirties, sporting shaggy blond hair and thick-rimmed glasses. He was holding hands with the man next to him. "I'm Aaron, this is my boyfriend Tyler. We've been together for six years." Tyler had sleek black hair cut short (and a weird fashion sense, John noted). "We're here because we feel our relationship is drying out."

Next was a woman with short red hair. "My name is Alice," she said. The woman next to her spoke up. "I'm Lily." Alice continued. "We decided to come on this retreat because we find ourselves fighting very often in our relationship."

"I'm Bernard," Bernard spoke up. John and Sherlock perked up, paying close attention. "Henry and I are here because Henry wanted to be here."

"Because I think we need to be here, Bernard," the man next to him (presumably Henry) said quietly. Silence followed.

Sherlock awkwardly cleared his throat. "Ah, I'm Sherlock, this is John. We've come to this retreat to sort out our relationship problems."

Sherlock didn't expand on it. Thankfully, the therapist didn't prod. She smiled brightly and spoke. "Well, now that we all know each other, let's start off with a little icebreaker. Going around the circle, each couple will tell how they first met, their perfect date, and what they love most about each other."

Aaron and Tyler looked at each other and smiled. "We just struck up a conversation at the coffee shop, actually. I remember you gave me your number and you freaked out when I called you the next day," Tyler laughed.

"I wasn't expecting you to call me! It was a shot in the dark!" Aaron playfully protested.

"Our perfect date, huh…." Tyler mumbled, searching. "Maybe to a museum?"

"That would be fun. I like fossils, you like ancient architecture," Aaron responded. "And what I most love about Tyler is that he's always willing to cuddle."

"I'm a shameless cuddlier," Tyler agreed. "What I most love about Aaron is his openness. He's not afraid to lay out his feelings."

Alice and Lily were next. "We met at work," Alice said. "And when I saw Lily I knew I had to ask her out."

Lily giggled. "And then you took me out shopping. We're such girls."

"I think that's our perfect date right there. Shopping, and then a movie," Alice smiled.

"What I most love about Alice is she always makes me laugh," Lily said.

"And what I most love about Lily is her smile. It always brightens my day."

John thought he was going to get diabetes from the sweetness dripping off of them.

Bernard began. "Well, Henry and I met at a bar. We hit it off right away," Bernard said, nudging Henry with his elbow.

Henry nodded. "You were so drunk I had to call you a cab. You still owe me for that, by the way," Henry replied.

"What's our perfect date, then?" Bernard asked.

"Um, I suppose going out to the theatre. We both like the theatre."

"What I love most about Henry is that he's very kind and accepting of people."

Henry smiled as if he didn't get compliments from Bernard very often. "Thank you," he said. "What I love about Bernard is his intelligence."

There was a prolonged silence until John realized it was his and Sherlock's turn.

"Sherlock and I met… um…" He wasn't quite sure how to start the story. _He needed a flatmate, I needed a flatmate, oh and I also shot a man for him the next day?_

"We met through a mutual friend," Sherlock saved John from his stuttering failure of a sentence, "and we got on quite well. We're both rather fond of puzzles."

John snorted. "Perfect date is Chinese takeout and you yelling at bad telly I'm trying to watch," John said. Sherlock smirked.

"What I most love about John is that I'm never bored," Sherlock said. "Well, most of the time."

"Oh, sod off," John replied. "What I most love about Sherlock is he makes life exciting."

 _Well, that was easier than I thought._ John sighed with relief.

The therapist handed out a schedule to everyone, and introduced herself as Judy. The rest of the session consisted of the therapist explaining the schedule for the next two weeks, and some boring stuff about the mission of the establishment. John was busy staring at the "COUPLES THERAPY" slot and how John and Sherlock had to go to it in an hour.

***

Sherlock and John went to their assigned room. John tensed when he saw only one bed, but he was expecting it.

"I hope you won't hog the sheets," John said.

"I'll try not to," Sherlock responded.

When the silence stretched out a bit too far for John's liking, he spoke up. "So how are we going to go about proving this guy is a criminal?"

"Easy enough," Sherlock said. "We just need to get his laptop, search it for emails and documents with incriminating information, make copies of them all and put them on a flash drive which I will deliver to the rival company."

"We could have broken into his house for that," John grumbled.

"He lives in the north and I really didn't want to take the trip."

"Alright, then. Can't we just steal his laptop and get out of here?"

"That would be risky, considering this establishment has our personal information and we could easily be arrested for stealing a high-ranking CEO's laptop."

"So we'll have to play the happy couple for two weeks."

"We've gone through worse, John."

John didn't have a response to that.

***

John and Sherlock were seated on a couch in a rather badly lit room. They were filling out a questionnaire. It was relatively easy to bullshit their way through it until they came to the heading "In the Bedroom".

After several incredibly awkward questions (who dominates, do they switch, are they insecure about their bodies, do they have an overall pleasurable experience), they finished the questionnaire. John went to fetch the therapist, who said she'd be down the hall. She was, and thus the awkward therapy began.

"Alright, it says here you've been living together for over a year now. How is that working out for you?"

"Fine. Great. Sherlock makes a right mess but as long as I can find the right things in the kitchen, I don't really care."

Judy smiled. "Could you expand upon why you have come to the retreat? I could feel you two were uncomfortable talking about it in front of the others."

Sherlock nodded. "It was more for John's sake than for mine. This is John's first relationship with another man, and he's a bit insecure about it."

"Yeah, um, I suppose," John mumbled, scratching the back of his neck.

"Also, John claims I don't show enough affection. Saying 'I love you' and all that daftness."

"Saying 'I love you' isn't daft," John exclaimed in surprise. 

"Yes it is, just as is hugging and holding hands, among other things."

John rolled his eyes. Judy simply continued with her plastered-on therapist smile. "Alright. Thank you for sharing, Sherlock. Do you have anything to say about it, John?"

"Um, not really, no."

Judy scribbled a few things down (John couldn't read her writing upside down if he tried, it was ridiculously dark in this room), and continued. "Would you be comfortable holding hands in front of me?"

"Um, I suppose so, yeah," John mumbled.

"And you, Sherlock?"

"I find it incredibly useless and childlike, but fine," Sherlock uttered and grabbed hold of John's hand.

"You should practice being more affectionate, Sherlock," the therapist said calmly. "It will help both with your insecurities about showing your love for John and John's insecurities about his sexuality."

"I'm not insecure, I just find it dull," Sherlock muttered. The therapist simply smiled.

***

After dinner, it was "social hour." Sherlock found it annoying to have to talk to other people but he put up with it. 

Soon it was time for bed. John dug his pyjamas out of his bag and gestured toward the loo.

"I'll take the first shower," he announced, going into the bathroom and closing the door. He brushed his teeth, took a quick shower, and put on his pyjamas before coming back out. Sherlock promptly entered the bathroom after.

John was on edge. The whole time Sherlock was in the shower, he was thinking about how awkward the next two weeks were going to be. John was… well, he was sort-of-bisexual, he thought, he'd hooked up with a few blokes in university, but that was the extent of his experience. He'd decided women were easier to deal with, and besides, he liked their soft curves and sing-song laughs. Men were all… pointy. 

Sherlock, on the other hand, well, John wasn't sure if he was into either gender. He seemed to get off more on crime than anything else. He sighed and made his way toward the bed, digging for a book out of his bag.

Sherlock decided to come out of the shower in a pair of boxers, in the process of putting on a t-shirt. John tried not to look, but his curiosity made him take a peek anyway. Just curiosity, John reminded himself. He's not actually in a relationship with Sherlock. It's just their cover. 

Yes, John found Sherlock attractive, but he was just as happy to be his friend than anything else. Besides, being a boyfriend to Sherlock Holmes would probably be more of a nightmare than living with him.

"Stop it." Sherlock grumbled as he sat on the bed, pulling out his laptop.

"What?" 

"Thinking, you're thinking too much."

John sighed. Sherlock was furiously tapping away at his laptop keys.

"Well, group therapy sounds dreadful, doesn't it?" John asked to fill the silence, not looking up from his book (something about a farmer and a train, he really wasn't paying attention).

"It will be boring, considering I already deduced the type and extent of their relationship problems within five minutes."

"Maybe you should be the therapist."

"I'd hate being a therapist."

"You'd probably be a rubbish therapist."

"Shut up."

John laughed. Sherlock chuckled. They sat in companionable silence for a while until Sherlock closed his laptop. 

"Well, let's get to bed then, shall we?"

He leaned over and turned off the lamp beside the bed. John and Sherlock wiggled under the covers.

"Jesus, Sherlock, your feet are cold."

"Then get out of my feet area."

"Oh god, you have a feet area when you sleep?"

"Never shared a bed before. I have a feet area now."

John was struck by Sherlock's comment. _Never shared a bed before._ Sherlock couldn't have read his expression in the dark, though, because he simply mumbled "Goodnight, John," and rolled over. John sighed and let Sherlock's breath lull him to sleep.


	2. Group Therapy

"Sherlock," John said as he pulled on his jumper the next morning, "When are we going to copy the files off of Bernard's computer?"

"Next week, during his couples therapy session," Sherlock replied, buttoning his jacket. "Should give as a little under an hour to get the job done."

"Won't it be locked?"

"Yes, that's why I'm going to take the janitor's keys."

"Right."

"Let's get to breakfast, shall we?"

***

It turned out that breakfast had assigned seating. Sherlock and John had to share a table with Aaron and Tyler.

"So what do you think of the retreat so far?" Aaron asked.

Sherlock opened his mouth to say something, probably some sort of critical comment, but John interrupted.

"It's good," John said.

"I think it will help," Tyler said, smiling at Aaron.

"Yeah, us too," John affirmed.

After a minute's silence, John could tell that the two men were a bit uncomfortable with the lack of conversation (also, that Sherlock was entirely too comfortable with it).

So he spoke. "What do you two do for a living?"

"I'm a graphic designer, Aaron's a violinist," Tyler replied.

"Oh! Sherlock plays the violin." John smiled.

"Really?" Aaron asked, curious. "How long?"

"Since I was ten," Sherlock said, clearly bored. "Although it's rather just a hobby. Helps me think."

"Ah, so what do you do for work, then?" Tyler asked.

John wasn't sure how to put it.

"John's a doctor, I work for the police," Sherlock said. It wasn't entirely the truth, but it didn't blow their cover.

"Oh, that's neat," Aaron said. "You sound like proper intellectuals."

"You could say that," came Sherlock's answer as he arranged his scrambled eggs into a frowny face. John laughed.

***

After breakfast, in their room, John consulted the schedule for what they'd be doing that day.

"It says we're supposed to do the 'assigned exercises'." John said, eyeing the paper with a raised eyebrow. "And then group therapy… What are the assigned exercises?"

"We got a packet from the the therapist, remember?" Sherlock said, taking a stack of stapled paper off of the nightstand. "She said we seemed uncomfortable with the physical side of our relationship, and that these were our assignments."

Sherlock handed the paper to John.

"So, what do we have to— oh," John said, eyes widening. "Well then. I'm assuming this is graded on an honor system?"

"I would suppose so."

"Then we don't actually have to do… anything."

"I suppose not."

John looked at the clock. "Well, we've got a few hours before lunch. Might as well make ourselves comfortable."

***

Sherlock and John were sitting on the bed an hour later, Sherlock typing something and John attempting to fill out the "extended questions on sexuality".

John turned to Sherlock. "It's asking about our sexual experience before… our relationship. What do you want me to put?"

"To be on the safe side, for you, I'd suggest around ten separate partners, include a few men," Sherlock remarked, staring intently at his laptop screen. "For me, at least 10 partners, mostly men, one or two women."

"That's not accurate in the slightest."

"Yes, I'm aware you've only had sex with one man, twice, and not since you were twenty," Sherlock said. _How the hell does he know that?_ "And I'm aware that I've had many more sexual partners than ten in my lifetime, but we wouldn't want me looking like some sex addict, would we?"

"What?"

"Yes, John, I've had a lot of sex. It comes with the line of work."

John was baffled. "What, to get information out of people?"

Sherlock nodded. "It's rather effective. Although… It hasn't ever been very pleasant for me," Sherlock said. "It's just a persuasion tool."

"Christ, Sherlock," John exclaimed, "You need to have someone give you the real thing. Sex is marvelous."

"The real thing, eh," Sherlock said. "I'm not quite sure what you're referring to."

"Sex. With someone you're attracted to. And preferably someone you like."

Sherlock sighed. "Well, once you find someone who fits the parameters _and_ is willing to have sex with me, feel free to let me know."

There was a pause.

John suddenly giggled. "I can't believe I'm talking about sex with my flatmate."

Sherlock's serious face started to crack into a smile. "It's a natural part of life, John."

"Oh, shut up."

***

He'd admit it— John thought group therapy would be bad.

He was wrong.

It was excruciatingly, painfully awful.

Judy suggested that Alice and Lily come up with coping strategies for their arguments, and instead Alice and Lily had a good sob for about fifteen minutes about nothing in particular until the therapist had to move on to someone else. Aaron yelled at Tyler for being a "controlling asshole that thinks he can tell me what to do and then have sex with me that night and tell me he's sorry and do it all over again the next day." Bernard kept making rather disgusting sexual innuendos that seemed to upset Henry a great deal but he didn't speak out about it. The therapist was violently scribbling notes throughout all of this. 

At one point, Alice and Lily were making out, still crying. Aaron moved to the other side of the circle, away from Tyler, and Henry was on the verge of tears.

Sherlock looked like he didn't know whether to laugh or shoot himself in the head. John felt the same.

"Well, Sherlock and John seem to be the only ones who haven't shared," Judy said, still smiling her unnerving therapist smile through the utter terror of it all.

"Um, yes, sorry, what was the question?" John asked.

"We were on the subject of arguments."

"Right. Arguments." John said, turning to Sherlock. "I don't really mind arguments."

"I rather enjoy them," Sherlock said with a smirk.

The therapist was dumbstruck. Soon enough, the room was quiet to hear what Sherlock and John had to say.

"We fight over the silliest things. And serious things sometimes. But we really wouldn't have any fun if we didn't fight," John said with a shrug.

"It's true, John seems to get off on it."

"Oh, shut up. I actually get mad at you sometimes."

"You love it."

John elbowed Sherlock in the ribs. 

"Well, what can we learn about how Sherlock and John deal with arguments?"

The question was lost as the group dissolved once again into yelling and tears.

***

"It's official, I despise group therapy," John said that night, sitting on the bed with Sherlock. Sherlock was sketching out some sort of strange flowchart. John was continuing to read his rather boring book from the night before.

"It really helps some people, given the right group dynamic," Sherlock said, continuing to make marks on his chart. "Unfortunately, I can't see how this group could help each other in the slightest."

John laughed. "Did you see Alice and Lily? Snogging while crying? I don't think I've ever done that."

"I can't see how it would be enjoyable," Sherlock said.

"What? Crying? Snogging? Crying while snogging?"

"All three."

"You don't like kissing? You're not much of a romantic, are you," John said, eyeing Sherlock with a quiet wonder.

"It's dull and physical and uncomfortable," Sherlock explained. "Although I'm told I'm good at it."

"Well, if you're just making out with people you hardly know to get evidence, of course it's going to be weird," John said. "You have to actually like the person for it to feel good."

Sherlock simply shrugged as he continued drawing out his chart. John rolled his eyes affectionately.

"It's nearly midnight. Shouldn't we be getting to bed?" John asked with a yawn.

"If you like," Sherlock replied, shutting his laptop and tucking it in his suitcase next to the bed. John pulled the covers down and crawled in, and Sherlock followed suit. The lamp clicked off and soon they were bathed in darkness. John exhaled deeply. This was going to be a long two weeks.

***

John had blood on his hands. His face. Blood in front of him. Gunshots, screams of agony, horrific smells of burning flesh. John searched for the scalpel in his bag, turned to extract the bullet lodged in the man's knee. Blood welled up and flowed as the scalpel sliced through, warm on his hands. Then a bursting crack of a gun, fire in his shoulder, nothing but fire, as everything went black, black, black…

John woke with a start. Sherlock was gripping John's arm as tight as he could, shaking it. "John," Sherlock almost whispered, voice laced with concern.

John's breaths were shallow and shaky, and his shoulder ached. Dammit, he would _not_ cry in front of Sherlock Holmes.

Sherlock seemed to realise John was awake and let go of John's arm. John could hardly see Sherlock in the dark, and it bothered him. He reached out for Sherlock, took a hold of something, his hand, and Sherlock wound his fingers with his, gripping firmly. 

It grounded him enough to close his eyes and fall back asleep.


	3. Group Therapy (With Vodka)

If Sherlock remembered John's nightmare in the morning, he didn't mention it.

John was grateful.

***

"So, what's our plan of action for today?" John asked Sherlock during "free activities hour".

"We need to get into the main office, check the schedule to see when the janitor's lunch and dinner breaks are. If they coincide with the time allotted for Bernard and Henry's therapy session, then we're good to go," Sherlock explained. "If not, then I'm going to need you to distract the janitor for at least a half an hour while I take his keys, break into Bernard's room, and search his laptop."

"Let's hope the former is the case." John sighed.

***

The main office was a tiny little thing. The door leading to it was just left of the reception desk at the front of the building. It consisted of a chair, a desk, a computer, and a monitor showing the live feed of the two security cameras (back entrance and front entrance).

Sherlock sat down on the chair. It took him five minutes to figure out the password for the computer, and about another five minutes to find the schedules.

"Any luck?" John asked, leaning over Sherlock's shoulder.

"Not yet," Sherlock said. "Whoever runs this place, and I'm assuming it's Judy, is extremely unorganized. The files aren't labelled very clearly. I'm going to have to look through all of them."

"How many are there?"

"Ten files, should take me ten minutes tops."

Sherlock read through about six of them until he found the right one. He scribbled down the janitor's schedule for next week and stuffed it in his pocket. He logged out of the admin account on the computer and stood up. 

"Alright, it appears the janitor has a thirty-minute break next week during Bernard's therapy session. We should have enough time to break in and get the files we need." Sherlock announced.

John nodded and reached for the doorknob.

Suddenly, Sherlock and John heard footsteps quickly approaching the door. 

"Shit," John whispered. "We're snooping around, they'll get suspicious—"

"Shut up and follow my lead," Sherlock growled, pressing John against the back wall. Sherlock mussed up his own hair, undid the top three buttons of John's shirt, and placed his mouth on John's neck. John had barely a second to register they were doing a fake-out-make-out and that he had to play along, putting his hands on Sherlock's arse (it made the situation look more authentic. At least that's what John told himself), before the door swung open.

"Oh, excuse me," a flustered Judy said. Sherlock pulled away with a jolt (the man could really act, John noted). 

"Sorry," John and Sherlock yelped in unison.

"No, no, it's alright, this is good, this is progress," Judy noted. "I'm glad to see you are more comfortable with the physical side of your relationship. I know the moment must have taken you, but if you could make the walk to your room next time, that would be wonderful."

"Yes. Alright. Good." John babbled.

"Understood," Sherlock nodded, looking slightly bashful.

The therapist grinned. "I'm looking forward to your individual therapy session tomorrow." 

John and Sherlock nodded, smiled, then sped out the door.

***

Lunch was slightly awkward. Conversation carried on like normal, but there was still the underlying realization of _I just grabbed Sherlock Holmes' arse_ playing through his head.

There was no scheduled group therapy for the day, and Sherlock and John didn't have their therapy session until tomorrow, so they awkwardly sat in their room for an hour before John decided to go out and take a walk in an attempt to clear his head.

It didn't exactly work. Nonetheless, when he came back, it was time for dinner, and hopefully they had Alice and Lily as their assigned table-mates because they liked to fill up all empty air with talk.

***

That night after dinner, there came a knock on the door. It was Aaron.

"Hey, guys," he said with a bright smile. "We've all decided to get drunk because we hate therapy. You're free to join us."

John could really use a drink. Especially after the encounter with Sherlock in the office room earlier that day.

"Alright, what room?" John asked. Sherlock glared at John. He clearly wasn't up to social interaction but John could care less. Sherlock could stay in the room if he hated people that much.

"Alice and Lily's. Everyone's in there. Except Bernard. Bernard's pissed at Henry for some reason so he's out having a smoke. I decided not to invite him. I don't like him anyway, to tell the truth."

"Well, I'll go," John said, standing up to join Aaron at the door. "You coming, Sherlock?"

Sherlock grumbled and ignored John. 

"Alright, more for me then," John said, following Aaron to Alice and Lily's room.

***

"I tell you, this therapist must be insecure about her sex life or something to be so concerned about ours," Tyler grunted, kicking back a gulp of vodka. He passed the bottle to John, who took a big swallow himself before handing it to Henry.

"The 'coping skills' she's making us come up with are shit," Lily complained, taking the bottle from Henry.

"What do you think of her, John?" Aaron asked lazily, head leaning on Tyler's shoulder.

"I dunno," John answered. "She seems alright. Except for, well, the assignments she gave us."

"Oh my god, did she make you come up with twenty different ways to say 'I love you?' Because that was a pain in the arse," Alice exclaimed. "If I want to say 'I love you' I'll take the easy route and say 'I love you,' for fuck's sake."

"No, ah, she wanted us to have sex. With the lights on. With 'maximum contact'."

"Come on, she only wanted you to have sex? That's bullshit," Tyler said.

"She did. Um. Yeah."

"Seriously, though, sex with your man? Would be _fabulous,_ " Tyler gushed. "The way he holds himself, those tight trousers that leave hardly anything to the imagination? Plus he's a violinist, musician's fingers are the best. I know that from personal experience."

"We are quite skilled in the finger department," Aaron giggled.

John felt his face heat. "To be honest, Sherlock… He doesn't like sex all that much. Seriously, I think he gets off more on those ridiculous experiments he does in the kitchen."

"What?" Henry chirped, speaking up for the first time. "That man practically _breathes_ sensuality."

"I'm not sure if he's aware of it," John mumbled. "He's not very affectionate, either. Hates holding hands and all that 'daftness'".

"Well then, he's a right arsehole. Gorgeous, but an arsehole," Alice concluded.

"Oh, you don't know the half of it," John groaned, grabbing the bottle of vodka as it made its way around again, taking a swig.

***

Sherlock ended up having to physically drag John out of Alice and Lily's room, which was quickly dissolving into various make-out sessions and sleeping on the floor.

Sherlock hooked John's arm over his shoulder, supporting him. "Walk, John, I'm sure that even in your inebriated state you can remember the basic mechanics of human motion."

John hiccuped. "Everyone's on the general consensus that you have a nice arse," he said.

"Are they now," Sherlock muttered, dragging John through the door to their room and shutting it. "Alright, at least get your shoes off before you're out cold."

John attempted to untie his shoes, but it took a lot longer than he thought it would, and since when was tying shoes so difficult? Sherlock sighed and removed John's shoes himself. He pulled back the bedcovers. "Get in," Sherlock commanded. John lazily crawled into bed.

Sherlock sighed. He stripped down to his boxers, not even bothering to find a pyjama shirt.

"Sherlock Holmes is getting undressed in front of me," John giggled as if it was the funniest thing in the world. He suddenly looked very intent. "You _do_ have a nice arse. It's firm. I grabbed it earlier, remember." 

Sherlock ignored him and leaned over to turn the light off. John grumbled at the sudden loss of light and squirmed around under the sheets. Sherlock's patience was wearing thin, but soon enough, John stilled and all was blissfully quiet.

That is, all was blissfully quiet for about ten seconds before John piped up again.

"You know I think you're bloody gorgeous," he blabbered, "if you think I'm attractive, and you like me, you could have sex with me, y'know. Oh god. Yes, I think I'd like that. Is that a bit weird? I think that's a bit weird."

"John, now is not the time to come to terms with your bisexuality. Go to sleep."

"But—"

" _Sleep_."

John did.


	4. Towards the Unknown

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> So I know that Sherlock and John said they'd been living with each other for "over a year" on the therapist's questionnaire, which wasn't exactly a lie. Any confusion about when this fic takes place should be resolved in this chapter.

John woke with a pulsing headache.

"Uuugggggh," he groaned, rolling over to smash his face into the pillow.

"Here," Sherlock said, handing john a muffin. "this was all I could get you since breakfast was three hours ago."

"Bloody hell, what time is it?"

"Going on noon. Get up, we have to go to our therapy session soon."

"Oh no." John gulped, memories of the night before flooding his head.

"What?"

"Did I really… Oh god."

"Tell me I had a nice arse? Yes, but I doubt you meant to say any of it. Alcohol tends to have that effect," Sherlock stated, straightening out his jacket. 

_I also propositioned you for sex_ , John wanted to say, but thought better of it. "Um. Alright. I'll just get dressed then. And have a couple aspirin," John grumbled, rolling out of the bed. He scuffled to the bathroom to get dressed (and hopefully not be tempted to vomit when he saw the toilet).

***

"Sherlock, John, I'm glad to see you two are becoming more comfortable with physical affection," Judy said during their therapy session.

John and Sherlock nodded.

"I think you've come a long way in the few days you've been here," She continued. "And I believe you will continue to improve. Is there anything you'd like to discuss today?"

John spoke. "No, I think we're good. The, uh, assignment helped, and all that. I think we're sorted."

The therapist nodded and scribbled something down on her notepad, still wearing her weird therapist smile. "I would like to ask you, would you be uncomfortable kissing in front of the others?"

John's stuttered. "Y-You know, some people classify that as too P.D.A," he said nervously.

"Just a peck will do. I know some people are afraid to show affection in public, especially gay couples, but it's a very safe place here, and you shouldn't be ashamed of your relationship."

"I wouldn't say we're ashamed," John said. "I think Sherlock just isn't into public displays."

"I'm only trying to help, and clearly, Sherlock is having trouble taking my advice," Judy said, her voice getting a little strained. 

Sherlock suddenly stood up, pointing a finger at Judy. "Has it ever occurred to you that maybe John and I just like to keep private things private?" he snarled.

"We need to work on your issues, Sherlock," the therapist said calmly. "Isn't that why you're here in the first place?"

Sherlock stormed out of the room.

"Sorry," John apologized quickly, following Sherlock out of the room.

***

"Sherlock!" John called, following Sherlock's brisk walk down the hall. He made it to their room, unlocked it, and pushed inside. John closed the door behind them.

"Sherlock, that was uncalled for. We have a cover to uphold—"

Suddenly, Sherlock spun around and thrust a finger against John's chest, almost accusingly. "If I ever kiss you, it's not going to be because that woman tells me to," he growled, then went into the bathroom and locked the door. 

***

Sherlock emerged an hour later.

"Let's take a walk," John said. "This place is driving us both a little bit crazy."

***

The garden outside the building was very quiet and peaceful as Sherlock and John walked along the path. John was right— the walk did seem to calm Sherlock down a little.

"Maybe my plan to steal the laptop was better," John said absentmindedly.

"Of course not, it was an idiotic idea." Sherlock scoffed.

"Well, better that than having to deal with all this therapy business."

"It's a necessary evil."

"Yeah, well maybe you should toughen up a bit. A kiss between us wouldn't mean anything in this situation. It's just for show. You didn't have to storm out like that."

Sherlock refused to answer.

John sighed. "Sherlock, if we're going to convince people we're a couple, you're going to have to start acting like it." 

Sherlock grew irritated. "Believe me, John, if we were in a relationship, the way I act around you wouldn't change. I don't respond to these situations like others do. I keep body parts in the fridge, for god's sake."

John shifted his weight from foot to foot, a bit nervously. "You're saying that as if…"

"As if what?" 

"As if you've thought about what… a relationship with me would be like."

"Of course I have. Don't tell me you haven't, because I know otherwise from the way you look at me when you accidentally catch me changing in the flat, and how your eyes drift to me during kiss scenes in films, and how your gaze lingers a little bit too long when I wear that purple shirt with the sleeves rolled up. Oh, also, last night you got rather drunk and told me I had a nice arse and that you'd like to have sex with me."

John could feel the heat rising to his cheeks. 

"Do you find me attractive?" John found himself asking, and _where did that come from_?

"I suppose from an objective point of view, you're good-looking, and I must say you look rather handsome in that red button-down of yours." Sherlock took a deep breath, his eyebrows furrowed, as if this was very hard to say. "But it's your intellect, your drive, your compassion-- that's attractive to me. You've put your life on the line for me far more times than I deserve. You make me see things that I wouldn't be able to deduce on my own. You let me keep disembodied heads in the fridge, and you don't mind my mold collection." Sherlock adjusted his clothes nervously, a habit he had when he was very carefully thinking of what to say. "You… waited for me. For far too long. When I came back three years ago I had the hugest urge to kiss you, and I didn't know why, because that's never happened to me before. And I would've if you hadn't chinned me first."

John smiled at the memory. It had taken very long to forgive Sherlock for what he did, but after three years, he had started to see why Sherlock did what he did. He wouldn't have been alive, Mrs. Hudson and Lestrade wouldn't have been alive if Sherlock hadn't jumped. And who knows how many people wouldn't be alive if Sherlock hadn't taken nearly two years to take down Moriarty's crime network?

"You're a mystery, John, a mystery I can't solve, but all I know is that I want to be near you." Sherlock sighed, finished with what he had to say.

John's heart beat faster in his chest. "Sherlock," was all he could manage to say, but then he cleared his throat and tried again. "I suppose it's my turn, but, ah, I really told you everything when…" he sighed. "When I thought you were dead. There were things I said then that I can't bring myself to say now. But I promise you I will be able to say them eventually."

The quiet that followed was strange. John felt like he should say something, anything to break the silence for fear of what could happen next. But what _could_ happen next? They'd just had a completely calm, logical conversation about what a romantic relationship between them would be like, and throughout John's entire love life he'd never been in this situation. Usually relationships consisted of going on dates and skirting around the edges until somebody finally gave in and kissed the other person. Not… whatever it was they were doing.

"So what happens now?" John asked finally.

"I'm not sure," Sherlock said in reply, looking at his shoes.

"I suppose we could, um, make it an experiment," John suggested.

"What are you proposing?" Sherlock asked.

"Pretending to be a couple, and I mean, _actually_ trying," John said. "See how it goes. At the end of the trip we can deduce whether or not to continue."

"Excellent thought process, John, you're getting better at this," Sherlock said, a bit teasingly, lightening the mood. 

John gave Sherlock a playful shove. "Oh, shut up. Do you want to try this or not?"

"I suppose we could."

"Starting now?"

"Sure."

John took that as permission to reach his hand out and take Sherlock's, threading their fingers together. Together they walked back to the building, and towards the unknown.


	5. Exploration

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Sorry this took so long, folks!

Sherlock and John apologized to the therapist, who smiled and nodded and said she understood. Which was her answer to everything.

They agreed that they could hold hands at the group therapy session tonight but kissing in front of the others might be a bit uncomfortable.

She handed them a few papers bound together with a paperclip. "It's another questionnaire. But only you two will see it, no one else. It's to understand each other more deeply. I think it might help."

John thanked her, took the papers, and left the room with Sherlock. Group therapy was in five minutes.

***

"Alright, we're going to begin group therapy by going around the circle and stating how your relationship has improved since the last group session," Judy said with a smile. "Aaron, would you like to start?"

"Um. Okay. Tyler and I have come up with a way to work through our arguments. When we start fighting, we take a break, leave each other alone for a half an hour, then come back and write down the points we want to make. We read them and try to discuss things rationally," Aaron said. His hand was resting on top of Tyler's, suggesting that things had begun to mend between them.

"It doesn't always work, but it's better than yelling at each other all the time and getting sick of each other. And we're trying to focus on the things that we like about our relationship." Tyler added.

"Like sex," Aaron noted.

The group laughed. The therapist remained stoic. "Bernard and Henry? Would you like to share?"

"Things are going well. I think we just really needed to come here to get our minds off of things. Work's been busy lately and that's been stressing us out," Bernard said. Henry nodded. Sherlock twitched.

Alice piped up. "I suppose it's our turn. We've decided not to bring up any sensitive subjects until we can teach ourselves how to cope with our differences."

"Good, Alice," Judy encouraged, nodding her head and scribbling something in her notepad. "What are your thoughts on this, Lily?"

"I think it's a good idea. Of course, it's not permanent, there's big things we need to talk about, but it's nice to not argue until we figure things out."

"Good, very good. Sherlock and John, would you like to say anything?"

John nodded. "Yes, I believe we've, um… decided on a fresh start. Take things one step at a time. And let things happen as they happen."

"And you, Sherlock?"

Sherlock spoke. "I agree wholeheartedly with what John said. A new beginning."

John reached out for Sherlock's hand. He took it.

The group smiled.

"Everyone, I'd like you all to recognize this is a very big step for them. Showing affection in public is a bit difficult for Sherlock," Judy announced. More smiles from the group.

Sherlock leaned over to whisper in John's ear. "You're right, therapy's awful. I hate therapy."

John giggled.

***

After brushing his teeth and putting on his pyjamas, John left the bathroom to join Sherlock on the bed.

"You're wearing one of my t-shirts," John said.

Sherlock looked down. "Oh, so I am."

John shrugged. "Our suitcases are pretty much emptied onto the floor at this point, so I'm not surprised."

"I just hope we haven't been sharing pants."

John snickered. "I know my own pants, thank you."

"So," Sherlock began, "Have you looked over the sheets the therapist gave us?"

John reached over to the nightstand where he had left the papers and took them in his hands. "Not yet, actually."

"Well, read it out."

John thumbed through the papers, raising an eyebrow. Sherlock glared at him. John cleared his throat and read.

"Question one: When was your first kiss?"

Sherlock thought for a moment. "Oh. So I haven't deleted it. I was seventeen, she was eighteen. I was certain she had stolen the exam answers from the teacher's office and attempted to seduce her to get her to talk."

John looked at Sherlock incredulously. "And how did that go for you?"

"Let's just say my seduction skills improved with time."

John chuckled. "Mine was boring. I took a girl to a school dance, I think I was… fifteen? Anyway, I kissed her and she told me I was 'icky'."

"'Icky?'"

"Yes. I don't think I talked to her again after that."

"Read the next one," Sherlock said almost eagerly.

"What? Are you having fun?"

"I'm learning things about you that I can store for later, when I might need them," Sherlock explained, tapping his temple. "I don't usually delete anything you tell me, unless it's to get the milk."

"Of course," John said. "Here. Next one. First time?"

"I assume that means first sexual experience?" Sherlock mumbled. "University. My friend Victor."

"I thought you didn't have 'friends'," John said, more of a question than a tease.

"Well, no. I suppose I should say boyfriend, but we did never like that term," Sherlock said. "It was my first and only long-term romantic relationship. I was young, I had a libido, I was bored, and he wasn't a complete idiot. It was logical."

John was listening intently. He didn't know anything about Sherlock in the years before he knew him. He knew of his drug abuse in his twenties but that was pretty much it. He hadn't given thought to the idea that Sherlock had romantic relationships before.

"You're thinking rather loudly," Sherlock said, rolling his eyes.

"Sorry."

"So what about you?" Sherlock prompted.

"University as well. Wasn't special. I dated her for three months, we had sex. Simple as that."

There were more questions, rather irrelevant ones because they had to do with their sexual experiences with each other. Considering they didn't have any of those yet, they decided to skip the page.

John looked at the next page. "Oh god, really?"

"What?" Sherlock asked, leaning over John's shoulder.

"There's an 'activity' portion." John answered, handing the paper to Sherlock.

"Well, we did say we'd try, didn't we? It can't hurt," Sherlock reasoned, skimming over the instructions. "It doesn't even seem entirely sexual."

John shrugged. "Alright. I suppose it won't be that bad."

"Am I that horrid a sight when I'm naked?" Sherlock teased. He reached down to remove his t-shirt, but John moved his hands to stop him.

"So we're actually gonna do this?" John nearly squeaked.

"It doesn't sound like an entirely awful experience," Sherlock said, smirking.

"Ah, alright then." John said, scratching the back of his head.

John tensed when Sherlock's hands gripped the hem of his t-shirt ( _his_ t-shirt, _Sherlock was wearing his t-shirt_ ).

"What?" Sherlock said. "Would you rather take your clothes off first?"

John swallowed nervously. "I suppose not," he mumbled. "Go on."

Sherlock pulled the t-shirt over his head. He waited, looking at John expectantly.

Although John had seen Sherlock shirtless before, he never had as close-up a view as this. Seeing something, he moved closer and tentatively ran a hand along Sherlock's abdomen.

"Appendectomy?" John asked, tracing the scar. John had performed a few appendectomies himself back in the day; the incision length and placement was familiar.

Sherlock nodded. "Rather nasty case of appendicitis when I was nineteen," he explained.

They fell into a weird sort of rhythm; John silently catalogued the scars and marks on Sherlock's upper body. Scar from being grazed by a bullet, a faded chemical burn, a birthmark, a knife wound scar, scarring from heroin use.

Sherlock had far too many scars for John's taste.

John moved down to look at Sherlock's lower body, where he found more scars; there were several on the heel of his foot (from stepping on glass shards, Sherlock said), and one on his ankle from "an unfriendly cat I met several weeks ago").

When there were no more scars to trace, John fell silent. He wasn't sure what to do.

He started tracing the lines of Sherlock's body, the dip in Sherlock's hip, the bend of his elbow, the curve of his neck. He reached out and touched Sherlock's face with uncertainty, but Sherlock did not protest.

Sherlock's eyes fluttered closed. John leaned forward slowly, until his face was very close to Sherlock's. Sherlock breathed slowly and placed his hand over John's.

They stayed like that for a while, and it was just about perfect...

"Isn't it my turn to get naked?" John suddenly remembered.

"You didn't take my pants off," Sherlock noted. "I don't see why I can't do the same."

"But still," John said.

Sherlock chuckled and squeezed John's hand. "You're clearly a bit nervous about it."

"Can we… not, and say we did?"

"Of course," Sherlock said, scoffing a little (John thought he might have heard Sherlock mutter "idiot"). He gently took John's hand off of his face. "Shall we get to bed?"

"Yeah," John said.

They got under the sheets, and Sherlock turned to switch off the light.

John reached for Sherlock's hand in the darkness, and Sherlock took it without hesitation.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Plotty things are going to happen within the next few chapters.
> 
> Also, I'm not exactly sure when the rating's going to go up.
> 
> So... brace yourselves, I suppose?


	6. Ahead of Schedule

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I am so, so sorry about how long this took. I was in quite a rut and had to put RHR away for a bit before coming back to it.

The next morning, John woke up, quickly noticing that he was being spooned by Sherlock.

Which was actually a rather pleasant way to wake up.

"Morning," Sherlock said sleepily.

"Good morning," John grumbled, stretching his legs out a bit.

Sherlock wrapped his arms more tightly around John, nuzzling into his neck. John laughed.

"What?" Sherlock mumbled, voice muffled by John's skin.

"Nothing," John said. "It's just… we're cuddling."

"I'm aware," Sherlock breathed a laugh.

"It's nice," John murmured, moving back, even closer to Sherlock.

Suddenly, John felt Sherlock's breath on his ear, and that was very, very bad, because that had always been a turn-on for John. His breath hitched, and he was rather certain Sherlock picked up on it.

John felt rather than saw Sherlock's mouth twitch into a smirk. He began to purposefully breathe on John's ear until John started wiggling in Sherlock's arms.

" _Sherlock,_ " John gasped, "Stop it."

"Not a chance," Sherlock chuckled. John turned around, facing Sherlock, about to make another protest, but then their eyes locked. Sherlock had beautiful eyes, especially when they sparkled with amusement. Sherlock's gaze flickered down to John's mouth, and John's eyes fluttered closed, and just like that, they were kissing.

It wasn't really like what John had imagined, kissing Sherlock Holmes. It was gentle, almost sweet, and John made a little noise in the back of his throat. Sherlock broke the kiss, laughing, moving to kiss the shell of John's ear. John could feel his face heat up.

Sherlock planted a quick kiss on John's neck before getting out of bed. "We'd better be on time for breakfast." 

Sherlock went into the bathroom to get dressed.

John could still feel his lips tingling from the sensation of Sherlock's kiss.

***

Group therapy was boring as usual. Everyone seemed to be doing rather well in their relationships ( _even us_ , John had to admit). The therapist smiled, handed out some papers, and dismissed the group.

John looked at the paper in his hands. 

"Sherlock," John said, "Look."

Sherlock leaned over and his eyes widened. It was a revised schedule.

And Bernard and Henry's couple therapy session was _tonight_.

***

Sherlock paced about the room. 

"Will you calm down," John sighed.

"I'm perfectly calm, John. I'm thinking. This isn't… There's something off about this."

John raised an eyebrow.

"It's just a guess. I could be wrong. It could be a completely normal schedule change, except _it's the only change in the entire schedule._ Bernard and Henry must have explicitly asked to change their therapy session," Sherlock explained.

"But…" John started. "Why would they do that? Are they suspicious?"

Sherlock tugged his hair in frustration. "Think, John, did you say anything incriminating the night you got drunk? Were Bernard or Henry there?"

"Um… I honestly don't remember much," John groaned, running a hand through his hair.

"Fantastic," Sherlock said, dripping with sarcasm.

"Well what are we supposed to do now?" John bit out. "We don't have the janitor's schedule for today."

"You distract the janitor, I get the keys, and search the laptop. Same as before. Just… Sooner then we anticipated." Sherlock sighed heavily, pacing the room.

***

John was on edge throughout dinner. Sherlock was perfectly relaxed, or at least seemed like it, making easy conversation with Aaron and Tyler across the table. But John had so many things going through his head, including the fact that he _kissed Sherlock Holmes_ that very morning, but what weighed more heavily on his mind at the moment was Bernard and Henry.

Perhaps Sherlock and John had no reason to be suspicious. Maybe Bernard had some conference to get to next week, and they had to leave the retreat early. But something about this just didn't feel _right_.

"You okay there, John?" Aaron asked, looking up from his dinner. "You haven't eaten a thing."

"Yeah, just not feeling too well," John said.

***  
Sherlock and John hadn't spoken a word in the hour before Bernard and Henry's scheduled therapy session. 

Sherlock eyed the clock constantly, eventually standing and walking towards the door.

"It's time," he said.

***

John stood in the janitor's office, at a complete loss as to what to do. It appeared that the custodian was on his dinner break, eating a rather greasy looking meal, his keys attached to his belt loop.

Dammit, this wasn't going to be easy.

"What are you doing in here," the janitor asked, a bit angrily, eyeing John warily.

John ended up having to elbow him in the side of the head to knock him out. John took his keys, and shoved a table in front of the door to keep the unconscious custodian in the office.

Sherlock stood outside the office, looking at John expectantly.

"Mission accomplished," John said, jingling the keys in his hand.

"Not quite," Sherlock noted, grabbing the keys.

***

"Will you hurry up," John whispered. "I hear footsteps."

John looked up from the laptop. "Footsteps? It's not even fifteen minutes into their session," Sherlock whispered back, typing furiously.

Sherlock was just about to eject the flash drive when the steps got louder, quickening.

"Sherlock," John urged.

"It's almost done copying the files," Sherlock hissed.

"Hurry up," John hissed back.

Suddenly, the footsteps stopped.

John looked up.

He was face-to-face with Henry.

"Hello, John," he said cheerfully, reaching around to his back, where something was carefully tucked into his trousers. "Care to tell me what you're doing in this room?"

He brought his hand back around.

A shiny black handgun emerged.

***

Sherlock leapt out of his seat. "Get back, John!"

John didn't budge.

Sherlock moved to take Henry's gun from him, but Henry tightened his grip on it, tutting.

"Now, now, Sherlock, you wouldn't want to get shot through the head now, would you?"

Sherlock froze.

"Better. Now give me the flash drive and get the fuck out of here and we can go on like nothing happened." He smiled.

"You know about this. What Bernard's been doing."

"Oh please, good boyfriends don't keep secrets from each other," Henry rolled his eyes.

Sherlock's head cocked to the side, realization dawning. "Ah, I see," Sherlock said slowly, in a voice reserved solely for when he was deducing, "You're not only in on it, you participate."

Henry shrugged, laughing a little. "You know what? This retreat has really helped Bernard and I," Henry sighed, waving his gun while gesturing. "We've formed a better… Understanding of ourselves. Our motivations. Who we'll cut down next."

Sherlock's eyes narrowed. "So that man wasn't your first murder," Sherlock stated. "You've killed before."

Henry nodded, gesturing, waving the gun around before taking aim again. "Strictly for Bernard's personal gain in his business endeavors, It's not like we get off on it or anything. Bernard especially. Seeing blood makes him a bit dizzy, the poor thing," Henry said in a pitying tone. "But I do enjoy the frightened-mouse look someone gets right before you stick a bullet through their skull. Kind of like Johnny right now."

John tensed. "You shut up. Now," he growled, stepping towards Henry.

Sherlock's eyes narrowed, completely ignoring John. "How did you know we were investigating?" He asked, one eyebrow raised.

"For one thing, I knew something was up when you two weren't even a couple," Henry snorted, looking between John and Sherlock.

"We are," John snarled.

Henry rolled his eyes. "Oh, well, you are _now_ , I suppose, but you weren't before. When you started. You were a shivering mess because you were attracted to a person with a dick," Henry said, pointing the gun towards John, "And Sherlock didn't even have the balls to hold your hand during group therapy. Not a couple. Easy conclusion to come to," he stated.

John balled his hands into fists. "How closely do you work with Bernard on this? Does he even know you killed a man for him to become CEO?"

Henry's mouth gaped open a little, as if that was a ridiculous notion. "Of course he knows. He just doesn't like getting his hands dirty." Henry chuckled. "Bernard's hands, love those hands…"

"You killed an innocent man, and you're laughing?!" John yelled.

Henry sighed, shaking his head, walking in a little circle. "Oh, John, you righteous thing. Your morality only holds you back," he reasoned. "Moriarty was right about you, bless his soul."

That was the last straw. John lunged forward, grasping Henry's wrist and twisting it painfully. Henry gasped and dropped the gun. John shoved him to the floor, crawling atop him, ruthlessly beating his face. 

Henry was soon unconscious, but John didn't stop. He kept hitting and hitting until his knuckles bled and there was blood dripping onto his clothes and over the floor.

"John," Sherlock cried out. "John, you need to stop."

John didn't listen. He beat Henry with every ounce of power he had.

"John, any more and you're going to kill him. We need him for information. And you don't want a murder charge," Sherlock reasoned, but he could tell John wasn't paying any attention, continuing to attack Henry.

Sherlock walked forward and took hold of John's wrists. He tugged John until he was standing up. Releasing his grip, Sherlock wrapped his arms around John. John struggled, pushing against Sherlock's grasp. Sherlock simply continued to hold him.

John started to shake.

He was crying.

"John, I'm here. I'm never going to leave you again. Ever. Do you understand?"

John turned around slowly and returned Sherlock's embrace. "Never again," John wept, "Never, Sherlock."

Sherlock held John tightly. "I promise."

John kissed Sherlock, holding him tightly, with no intention of ever letting go.


	7. Release

It was dark outside. John grit his teeth as he tensed against the cold while he sat on the front steps of the retreat building, face illuminated by the bright blue lights of police cars. Sherlock stood amongst the flurry of law enforcement officers, calm as he reasoned with them.

John knew he wouldn't be taken into custody for assault, because he acted in self-defense (even if he took it a little far). Henry had successfully been arrested, but Bernard had fled the vicinity— police were currently tracking him down.

Sherlock had finished his business with the police (presumably having pulled the "I'm a special investigator, contact Lestrade at Scotland Yard" excuse to get himself and John out of trouble) and joined John at the front steps.

"Well, that was a right mess," John muttered.

"We got the job done. Albeit not as carefully as we could have," Sherlock said in reply.

John rubbed his hands together in an attempt to muster up some warmth. "It's bloody freezing. If they aren't keeping us out here, I'd like to go back inside."

"We'd be tresspassing a crime scene."

"That's never stopped you."

The other couples and the retreat staff were being kept in the large group therapy room until the scene was cleared. Sherlock and John, however, went straight to their room.

They stood facing each other in charged silence, the bed a dangerous object in the background.

John look downwards. "You've got a hard-on."

"As do you," Sherlock noted.

"Bugger," John remarked.

"Adrenaline," Sherlock explained. "Perfectly normal response."

"Yeah," John breathed sharply, "perfectly normal."

Surging forward in spontaneous tandem, Sherlock and John's lips met, a rough and needy kiss filled with startled moans and needy touches.

Sherlock's hand traveled from John's waist down to the front of his trousers, rubbing the heel of his hand against John's straining arousal. A too-loud moan tumbled from John's throat, and the sound only further encouraged Sherlock's touch.

"Sherlock," John gasped, "I'm going to come in my pants if you keep doing that."

Sherlock smiled and leaned in to speak low in John's ear. "So how shall we proceed?"

John shivered from the overwhelming sensation against his ear. "How the _hell_ did you pick up on that?" John groaned, burying his face in Sherlock's shoulder.

Sherlock chuckled. "I'm a bloody detective." 

John suddenly burst into giggles, overly amused by that stupid remark. Sherlock couldn't fight his own laughter, and soon they were shaking with amusement as they held each other. Sherlock laughed and planted a kiss firmly on John's mouth.

"You were right about kissing," Sherlock said.

"Yeah?" John breathed against Sherlock's lips.

"Much better when it's with someone you fancy," Sherlock explained.

"You fancy me." John smirked.

"Yes, as does my penis, if you hadn't noticed," Sherlock remarked, gesturing south.

"God, Sherlock, it's a cock. Or a prick. Christ, call it a schlong for all I care, it's not a _penis_ while we're making out."

"I didn't realise it had a bloody magical transformation."

"Shut up, you git." 

They resumed their kiss, moving toward the bed. Both had managed to kick off their shoes in the process. Sherlock began to hastily unbutton his shirt, shrugging it off of his shoulders before leaning down to press John against the bed. John pulled his jumper and t-shirt up and off of his body, tossing the lump of clothes aside to land on the floor. Sherlock kissed John's lips, his neck, his collarbone, breathing in John's sweat, his skin, the scent of his aftershave.

When Sherlock pressed their hips together, a needy moan escaped them both. 

"Jesus, get your trousers off," John said, fumbling with Sherlock's belt. He managed to unbuckle it and unzip Sherlock's fly. Sherlock reached down to hook his thumb into both pants and trousers, tugging them down and off his hips. Together, they managed to remove the rest of Sherlock's clothing. Sherlock made quick work of John's trousers and pants, John lifting his hips to help Sherlock drag them down and off. John ended up with one sock on after the tangle of clothes was removed, but he could really give less of a shit because Sherlock was _grinding down on his cock._  

"Oh God," Sherlock gasped, bracing himself against the bed as he and John rutted together. "I'm— I'm not gong to last very long, I'm afraid."

"Doesn't matter, I'm not either," John replied, reaching down to take hold of both their cocks, tugging and pulling with quick precision. The stickiness of their arousal slicked the way, making the hot slide of John's hand _perfect._  

John felt himself close to the edge. "Sherlock," he gasped, "I'm going to—" 

"Come," Sherlock moaned, "I'm going to—"

Sherlock's orgasm hit, his hips hitching against John's grip. John worked him through it, keeping up his steady strokes.

Suddenly, Sherlock moved away. John tensed, hand stilling on his own cock, until he felt Sherlock pry John's hand away, grab John's hips, and take John's cock into his mouth. 

John yelled, coming down Sherlock's throat, hand gripping Sherlock's messy hair. Sherlock swallowed, squeezing his eyes shut against the bitter taste. 

"I wasn't expecting that," John said through heavy breaths.  

"I wasn't really planning on it," Sherlock said.

They simply breathed together for a moment, letting the air wrap around them, happy with each other's touch.

"I think I love you," John admitted, and he kicked himself as soon as the words left his mouth.

"You've loved me since the beginning," Sherlock smiled. "As have I."

John gathered Sherlock into his arms, hugging him tightly. 

Sherlock returned the embrace, feeling skin against skin, breath against breath.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> And there's the long-awaited update. The first update in over a year. I am so sorry.  
> I offer up porn for my forgiveness.  
> By the way, I'm doing much better now. :) College is kind of a slow go in terms of making friends, but I'm trying my best, lol. I'm getting way better grades than I ever did in high school, surprisingly. Having less homework and more essays/projects is actually really cool.  
> As a side note-- this fic has been translated into Chinese! Actually, it was a long time ago. I don't know if it's still being updated, but you can go check it out. http://221dnet.211.30i.cn/bbs/forum.php?mod=viewthread&tid=2330&extra=page%3D1


	8. Fully and Completely

"Well," Sherlock said, suddenly sitting up. John grunted in protest as he was jostled off of Sherlock's chest, where his head had been resting. 

"What is it?" John grumbled. 

"I'd like a shower," Sherlock announced. "Care to join me?" 

John smiled. "Of course." 

— 

Showering with Sherlock was quite the experience. 

Sherlock had a very systematic way of washing himself— he scrubbed every inch of his body with soap and a cloth, rinsed, then did it all over again— and washed and rinsed his hair about three times over. 

"I think you're clean," John laughed. He'd finished washing himself in about five minutes, and Sherlock was taking forever (that's not to say that John wasn't enjoying the show). 

"I like to be thorough," Sherlock said. "With all the various dangerous substances I run into on the daily, it's a good habit to have." 

"Yeah, okay," John said, lifting a hand to shield Sherlock's eyes as he rinsed out his hair for the millionth time. "But I'd quite like to snog you, so hurry up." 

Sherlock's eyes perked up and he grinned excitedly. "In that case," he said with a final scrub of his hair, "I'm done. Come here." 

Sherlock held out his arms for John, and John readily accepted the embrace. Sherlock tilted his head down and kissed John under the warm water of the shower. 

— 

John and Sherlock stood outside the door to the group therapy room, freshly dressed, hair still damp. John fidgeted with the edge of his jumper. 

"This is going to be awkward," John said. 

"How so?" Sherlock asked. 

"Sherlock, they must know by now we're involved with the whole Bernard and Henry fiasco. They're going to be pissed off." 

Sherlock raised an eyebrow. "Why? They should be happy that we caught two dangerous criminals." 

"Two? I thought we only caught the one," John said. 

Sherlock pulled out his phone from his pocket and waved it at John. "Lestrade texted me," he said. "Bernard didn't get far before they managed to arrest him." 

"That's a relief," John said with a sigh. "Let's just get this over with, alright?" 

Sherlock nodded. "Hold my hand." 

"What?" 

"I said, hold my hand," Sherlock said, growing impatient. His arm was stretched towards John, palm open. 

"Alright," John said, bewildered, as he took Sherlock's hand. Sherlock opened the door with his other hand, and they stepped into the room. 

Aaron, Tyler, Alice, Lily, and the therapist were all seated in the middle of the room. A police officer stood near them, looking bored. All heads turned to look at Sherlock and John; their hands were still linked together, even as Sherlock began giving orders. 

"You," Sherlock commanded, pointing at the policeman. "Go. They've got the fugitive in custody, there's no need to keep these people locked up in a room." 

The policeman put his hands on his hips. "Sir, I don't think that's—" 

"GO," Sherlock barked. The policeman let out a sound closely resembling a squeak and left. 

An awkward silence fell over the room. 

John eventually cleared his throat. "Um, I think we need to explain some things." 

"The police told us everything," Alice piped up. "You're some kind of detective team, and this whole thing," she said, pointing to Sherlock and John's linked hands, "is fake. So you can drop the act." 

Sherlock growled and was about to let out a biting remark when John squeezed his hand. "Look," John said. "We may have came here with the intention of catching a criminal, but that doesn't mean we didn't… need this. We did. I lo—" 

"I love John," Sherlock announced. "And thanks to you all, I'm comfortable saying it. And holding his hand. I can even snog him in front of you all if you'd like." 

The therapist gasped. Aaron and Tyler giggled. Lily and Alice looked scandalized. 

"John and I may not have been together… in _this_ way when we first came here," Sherlock said. "We've been dancing around it for ages. I was scared of intimacy, and John was terrified of having sex with a man. But that's changed." Sherlock smiled at John. "It's amazing what some therapy can do." 

John smiled back. "Sherlock—" he began. 

"So you're a proper couple now, are you?" Tyler asked, grinning. 

"Considering we just had sex, I'd say yes," Sherlock shrugged, nonchalant. 

" _Sherlock_!" John yelped. 

The couples laughed. The therapist looked over the moon. "I'm so happy you've found each other," she said, practically cooing. "Would you like to join us for our final group therapy session?" 

Sherlock grumbled. "I hadn't anticipated this," he muttered into John's ear. 

"Oh, deal with it," John said. 

Their hands still intertwined, John and Sherlock took a seat with the other couples, and the therapy session began. 

John certainly had thought a lot about what would happen over this retreat, but he didn't think _this_ was even a possibility. Loving Sherlock, fully and completely, physically and emotionally, sexually and romantically. 

John cursed under his breath when he realized he had totally just spouted back what was written in that awful worksheet he and Sherlock had to fill out the other day. 

But it didn't really matter, because it was all true. 

John loved Sherlock. Sherlock loved John. And they weren't afraid anymore. 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Well, there it is. The conclusion to Rainbow Hearts retreat.
> 
> Thank you all so much for sticking with me. :)
> 
> Sometime in the next few months, I'm going to go through chapter-by-chapter and do a bit of rewriting. Nothing major, just maybe an added scene here and there and some polishing. But for now, this is the end!  
> ETA: Well, I think I might just do a grammar/spelling swipe (I'VE ALREADY FIXED SEVERAL PAINFUL TYPOS WHILE RE-READING. WHY DON'T PEOPLE TELL ME ABOUT THESE THINGS) and then add a "sequel" with missing scenes, maybe? Who knows. We'll see. :)
> 
> xoxo  
> pajamasecrets


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